Yesterday,
the bus stop,
all the people's heads
turned, watching.
Gaze of anxiety.
The blind woman tapping
her way forward.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
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The Buddha says: “ You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself .” The path is uncertain. Uncertainty is the guiding for...
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What if relationships are the primary ordering principle? What if the way relationships are ordered clarify, explain, and instruct us on th...
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direct link: Tones of Noir music: Alex Bailey, ' Piano Improvisation No 7 .' Do poems wait to be born? A poem whittled out of t...
ah... sweet distillation
ReplyDeleteturning it all around - finding "their" discomfort, instead of hers.
And what beautiful balance and movement.
Love this. Rendered to pure form.
ReplyDeleteReminds me of your paintings. Wonderful.
ReplyDeleteShe was different to the woman I wrote of yesterday, but she has become part of this story too.
ReplyDeletenarrator, distillation, what a wonderful concept... And those onlookers, none of them knew all the others were looking too, each thought themselves alone and not being witnessed. The anxiety was remarkable, and it wasn't for the woman herself, who was making her way down the street just fine.
twoberry, I love it when you drop by! Sometimes short vignettes do that, are suggestive enough to send one off in a number of different directions, and if you feel I've managed that here, well I'm honoured.
e_journeys, glad you like it-
Patry, hmnn, that's giving me pause for thought.